


Lucky shots aren't always lucky

by BeingNormalsBoring



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeingNormalsBoring/pseuds/BeingNormalsBoring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never thought this could happen</p>
<p>*bad title but I couldn't think of anything else*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky shots aren't always lucky

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this last week or so. It was originally inspired by what Anders says when you die in battle if you romanced him (broke my heart to hear).
> 
> If you see any spelling or grammar errors please tell me so I can fix them asap. 
> 
> I'm gonna go away now so hope you enjoy and feel free to leave a comment.

It wasn't skill that allowed the shot to make it. Only luck. A freakish luck with some sort of sense of ironic humor. 

One moment, Anders was firing spells at the templars that had ambushed them and then from the corner of his eye he saw movement from the ground. It took him a moment-a moment too long-to realize it was a templar, lying in his own blood and slowly raising his crossbow. 

Quickly finishing off the templar that had been pestering him he turned his full attention to the other with the crossbow. Anders prepared a shield around himself to block the bolt being sent but too late-a small portion of time that did so much-he realized that it was not him the crossbow was aimed at but to his right, to the unguarded back of the man many called Champion of Kirkwall, the man he called darling and love and dear. 

The templars finger was pulling the trigger and he was opening his mouth to scream, to cry, he didn't know as long as whatever he did gave some sort of warning to make Hawke turn around to see the danger or move out of the way. Anything that would keep that shot from hitting its mark of the rogues open back. Then the templars finger snapped the trigger and he couldn't find his voice-not much unlike when he'd first realized that he was in love except this time it wasn't good or happy-and he could only stand there, trying to find it, wishing that he'd stayed closer to the man's side, close enough that he could push him out of the way.

Anders had heard people say that in times like this the world slowed down around them, that everything could be seen in perfect clarity but nothing really changed for him. Time didn't slow or speed up. If anything it stopped, but that wasn't time itself that was the beat of his heart when he heard the sickening noise of the bolt hitting home, striking flesh and sliding its way through the body.

"Hawke!" He screamed, much too late now. He looked to the man, just in case the bolt had hit someone because wouldn't that be lucky but no, there stood Hawke-his sweet darling Hawke that might as well have been named his world, his universe-swaying on his feet, blue eyed fixed on the metal spiked tip of the wooden rod protruding from his chest. Part of Anders' mind-the optimistic part- told him that it wasn't too bad, that Hawke had survived worse but the rational part of him, the healer part, could see that the bolt was in the upper left of his chest, directly through where his heart was-the heart Anders had memorized the location and pace of after so many nights holding each other as they were claimed by sleep. Hawke couldn't seem to hold his weight any longer and his body slumped forward, landing him on his knees.

Anders wanted to run to him, to hold him and whisper promise after promise in his ear, that he'd be OK. He couldn't though. The templars were still there, advancing as he stood there frozen.

Unlike other times when the spirit Justice took over him, Anders did not bother stopping him but let the spirit fire his magic through the mages body, striking down the templars. Anders distantly wondered why Justice would be showing himself now, when none of this had to do with the mages plight, but maybe Justice merely wanted to kill templars, or maybe he understood that without Hawke, Anders wouldn't be able to drag himself to the aid of any mages. Whatever the reason was he couldn't care though.

Justice eventually faded from his mind, leaving Anders to stand alone amongst strewn around bodies, blood and broken armor. He wanted to cheer, but he heard a noise behind him and moved faster than he thought he could, racing to Hawkes side. 

The man had fallen backwards, lying awkwardly on the ground with the bolt in his chest, rivulets of blood running from between his slightly parted lips.   
"Hawke." Anders murmured.

At his voice, Hawke turned his head to look at Anders as he kneeled by his side. Gently, oh so gently, he lifted the mans upper body from the ground and pulled him to rest with his back on Anders' lap. "Hawke-"

"Anders..." Hawkes voice was weak and followed by a cough that racked his whole body. "Please...."

Anders shook his head. "No, your going to be OK."

Hawke said nothing but a distant smile touched his lips as his eyes grew hazy. His mouth moved, forming unheard words. Their eyes met and Anders realized his face was wet, eyes misty.   
This couldn't be happening.  
Hawkes lips moved again.

"What is it?" Anders somehow managed to ask his throat clogged by some lump of despair quickly forming. He leaned down closer and closer until against his ear he could feel Hawkes breath and he could see nothing but the mans skin.  
The words weren't said out loud but Anders heard them all the same-he'd long since memorized how the other man said it.

I love you.

"I love you too Hawke but you need to relax right now so I can patch you up enough to get you to a medic. Alright?"  
There was no response, no indication that he'd been heard and when Anders sat up to see why his gaze was only met by the stale empty eyes of those without a soul, a life.

There was more wetness on his cheeks and he didn't try to stop it now but let himself cry, gross noises would have embarrassed him had the situation been different. "No." He sobbed. "No, please don't be dead." He hugged the limp body in his arms. "Maker please!" He screamed as loud as his voice would go. "Please don't take him!" His arms trembled and his body folded over the one of his love, his everything. "Please please don't."


End file.
